


Strangers Are Easy To Like

by slightlyjillian



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Canonical Character Death, Escape, F/F, F/M, Impersonation, M/M, Murder, Post-Crime, Suicide, Virtual Reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-04
Updated: 2011-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-14 10:24:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wanted to put the world back in order. She wanted to avenge a friend. Together they got away with the perfect crime. But when a nosy, new employee and a wealthy detective start asking the right sort of questions, how will Sally and Nichol escape this time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strangers Are Easy To Like

**Author's Note:**

> I’m going to have to try harder if I’m going to write a proper ‘bad’ Nichol. _Strangers Are Easy To Like_ started out a while back as an attempt to do that, but this is what I got instead. I slapped a lot of warnings on this for folks who like to know those things.

The anniversary sneaked up on them both even though a mild sense of the nearness had rippled through their interactions of the past few weeks. Sally finished signing her name on a receipt when the delivery required her to focus on the date. Nichol noticed her hesitation and crossed the store from where he had been restocking the water bottles.

“I had forgotten. I had almost let the whole day go by…” Sally rushed her eyes toward his face with a sudden, open wildness.

“I thought we agreed we weren’t going to even think about this again,” Nichol said, absently flipping through the miscellaneous items at the front counter. He tossed a chap-stick in his hand just before pocketing it.

Sally reacted by pushing her full weight onto her arms. “Don’t even pretend that you haven’t changed since...”

“Oh, I know that I’ve changed,” Nichol retorted, his lips turned downward. “You’re the one who’s stuck feeling guilty.”

***

When Sally had closed the register, she locked up the shop door and climbed up the back staircase to the upstairs apartment. She found Nichol had already plugged into the iVR. The worry lines on his brow had smoothed away, but he never completely relaxed even in the virtual world. He had left his shoes on and the soles braced against the carpet as if he was afraid to slip away.

He’d half smoked a cigarette prior to entering the system. Sally lifted the ashtray with the still smoldering remains and moved it away to the kitchen. She wasn’t hungry. She wanted to log in. But she did not want to have that smell constantly reminding her of where her body really was. Smells were the worst.

Going back to her seat, she glanced at Nichol again. He had probably gone to find Dorothy, a sure way to ruin a good week or, in this case, ignore the anniversary.

“It’s easy to like a stranger,” she whispered. Nichol’s head tilted just enough that his curling dark fringe slid to a new angle. Maybe he heard her. Maybe he didn’t. She probably wouldn’t see him again until he had enough, even though they’d spend the hours side-by-side.

Sally left her iVR on all day. It started immediately where she had left off.

***

“Now why can’t I seem to do that in the real world?” Nichol grumbled. He pulled his hands away and pushed them into his hair. He could feel the tremble of his fingers shaking along his scalp. Then he had a new weight drop along his back and lips whispering into his ear.

“Because you don’t have me in the actual world,” Dorothy replied. “And how is that world any more real than this one?” She stretched her arm around him, but he pulled her hand back before she could jostle the bottle and inside it the delicately constructed, perfect, ship.

“Step one to solving a virtual reality addiction,” Nichol mocked. “Admit you have a problem.”

“We’re born addicted,” Dorothy settled into his lap. “From the moment we’re conceived, the system puts us into a wired chamber to adjust to separation from the womb. And that’s the life story of a natural birth conservative. I was a special concoction… one hundred percent designed by the best money can buy from the finest of genetic architects. Still, I prefer the person I am in here… with you.”

Nichol couldn’t properly laugh, stumbling through a retort, “Someone botched up your ticker, Dorothy.” He immediately saw her disappointment. Any other day he would have taken her to a new program imitating the finest stores of ancient Paris or some revolting love hotel to indulge her ill humor. Today they were in a cabin in a secluded forest with a private lake. But he hadn’t left the dark-wood atmosphere of the study. The table lamp tilted like an interrogation lamp reflecting from the glass ship-in-a-bottle.

“Are you going to ever come find me? Or do you prefer the iVR, darling hypocrite?” she asked. Then a moment later, Dorothy stood and shrugged out of her robe revealing a powder blue bikini underneath. “I’m rich enough to investigate who you are on my own.”

Her threat bore little weight. Nichol knew she encouraged the mystery in their relationship most of all.

***

“Tell me that you didn’t just put an engagement ring in my dessert?” Noin tapped the delicate chocolate pastry with her fork as if scavenging for a metallic shine.

“Close. I was close to doing exactly that, but obviously you would have guessed.” Sally rested her cheek in her palm. Noin had actually found something in her wardrobe, far in the back long forgotten corners, which seemed almost fashionable when age allowed an item to become retro. The dark purple made the woman’s complexion seem more pale, if that were possible, and her eyes sparkled.

Noin poked around the plate until she submitted to taking a bite. “This is fabulous. You absolutely would have distracted me with it.”

“That was my intention,” Sally nodded. “But in the end, I only wanted… _want_ to be straightforward with you, with our relationship. I don’t want to hide anything from you ever again.”

“It is so much easier that way.” Noin pressed her lips together. In another lifetime, she would have drifted away into some long though about Milliardo. But not in this place. This Noin had never heard of the Peacecrafts or Zechs Marquise.

“You’ll have your ring when I’m ready,” Sally inhaled. She knew that she was going to eventually hate herself for this. Soon enough she would fall asleep and the program would default into a holding pattern until Sally rebooted it to the beginning again. The responses were better. More Noin-like, but it was never Noin. Not really her. Not ever in here.

In the morning, Sally would press her fingers over her eyes and moan. “Stop it, Sally. Just dump the program…and forget.”

But she never did.

***

As Nichol pried his eyes open, the shadows of the room had long become swallowed into the darkness of night. He switched on the lamp and glanced at Sally only long enough to see she’d clocked four hours herself.

She was crying again. He’d tried bringing up the tears, which always left evidence of tracks down her cheeks, just to be sure he couldn’t fix something for her. The iVR wasn’t supposed to cause reaction in the physical world. Sally shrugged him off and said that she didn’t mind a little extra saline to moisten her eyes.

“That’s not what I meant,” Nichol said aloud, to himself, again.

Dorothy had finished with him quickly, calling him out on his mood and covering it up with accusations of being bored with him. She always left a message where to find her the next day. He didn’t worry about losing her. But he had somewhat prided himself on keeping her in the good part of his life. It wouldn’t do to have her too curious too often about the live body on the other end of their iVR relationship. He never probed after her secrets.

At least he knew she was a live body. It wasn’t polite to dismiss romances with NPCs, but Nichol was old fashioned. His parents had been the conservative sort. Nichol had been unplugged to meet with an actual tutor. Of course, his education had suffered somewhat, but he had what he liked to call a throw-back knack for the average guy interactions.

His unconventional methods also led to creative thinking when one had to dispose of a body. Or two.

***

The next morning, Sally noticed twelve unchecked messages on the store queue. The pings were all sent from the same source.

“Nichol, do you know this number?” she asked. They had to open all the lines and soon if they expected to really cash in on the holiday business. The competition had more staff and it was a gamble if they’d have sentimental walk-ins or the traditional electronic queries. The last holiday, Sally had gone hoarse from hours of verbally directing the bidding—which was why she’d insisted they invest in an auto system for the small offers.

“Nichol, do you know…” Sally trailed off. Then changing her question, she watched as Nichol strolled from wherever he’d been hiding. She suddenly knew he’d gone behind her back. “Did you hire someone without telling me?”

“Ah,” Nichol’s mouth flapped, completely caught. Then he scowled. “I didn’t hire anyone. I just had an interview with a person who was as incompatible as they come. I told him to get lost.”

“And then he hacked the store number with a logarithm. He keeps calling. Great, we just got five more,” Sally cleared the list only to have another query appear. “We need this line for the business, Nichol, not a stalker.”

“He’s using a bot.” Nichol had missed her complaint by fixating on the trivial details. “I had cleared the history, but that explains why I always found more.”

“Nichol, what happened?”

“He wouldn’t take ‘no’ as an answer,” Nichol replied, crossing his arms. “And it’s not like I really can call the authorities to chase him out, can I?”

Sally set the back of her hand against her forehead. She almost expected to press into the heat of a fever to match her aggravation. Only, Nichol was absolutely right. They had no choice but to deal with nuisances on their own.

“I could call him back in,” Nichol suggested. “Just to get him off the lines and then… see if he’ll be reasonable.”

“I knew we shouldn’t have invited anyone to interview. Anyone,” Sally sighed heavily. “Deal with him, get him out of our store and we’ll change the numbers if we have to—but we need clear lines today.”

“I’m sorry, Sal,” he did sound genuinely apologetic.

She cleared the bot filled list of inbound pings with the stab of her finger. “Never as sorry as I am.”

***

Trowa Barton seemed lean and tall, but when Sally noticed how he moved, real muscles under properly washed cloth, she knew that he wasn’t a scrawny iVR kid tying up their lines for a petty slight. Unassuming and deceptively slouched, Trowa readily endured under Nichol’s clipped speech about the business going into a trial stage with only the current staff.

Now and again, this man’s unusually green eyes would slide toward Sally as if only to observe. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he already knew her name, her privilege of birth certification number and what trace elements of illegal substances were still floating in her iVR plugs. Now she understood why Nichol had quit trying to hire after one interview. Trowa Barton was peculiar. He felt… off.

“What tasks did you have planned for me?” Trowa asked, the first time he’d spoken since the initial greeting.

“Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?” Nichol gaped for a moment before pulling himself together. “We’re not hiring.”

“You just said the business is going through a trial period…”

“With the current staff,” Nichol repeated. But Trowa continued to talk over the older man, “You’ll need someone to be your test pilot.”

“Sally?” Nichol cast his best hope her direction.

“Just say ‘no’…” Sally said, mostly to herself.

“So,” Trowa grinned, his eyes narrowing, as cheerful as a fox. “When do I start?”

***

“Do we know where he goes after work?” Sally asked. She had finally brought in an order of fresh food from their stores for dinner when Nichol couldn’t stomach the get-thru pills any longer. Nichol chewed the real meal until his jaw ached from ill-practice.

“I poked my head out and saw him climb into the mat on the corner,” Nichol glanced at the iVR. He hadn’t checked for Dorothy’s message yet and he didn’t want to miss seeing her, even for real food. Then turning back to Sally who was rebraiding her hair, he added, “The mat could dump him anywhere. He might live across the country for all we know about him.”

“I told you to have him fill out the hire forms.” Sally threw the responsibility back at her business partner. Still she had heard Trowa slyly bypass even that commonplace obligation.

 _It’s only for a trial period, what’s the point?_ he had said, flashing his easy going, closed-lip smile as if unable to resist celebrating his upper-hand.

“We’re lucky he didn’t just waltz up here and expect lodging,” said Nichol. He pushed away from the table and looked at the leftovers with absolutely no appetite. The get-thru pills caused that too, but Trowa Barton was completely to blame for these particular twists of worry.

“Do you think he knows?” Nichol asked quietly. “No one has ever asked. Not once. Perhaps we weren’t as safe as we thought…”

“Do you think I ever felt safe?” Sally snapped, then she looked away biting her lower lip.

“If he suspects,” Nichol carried the thought forward. “I’m not sure we’ll have any luck persuading him from whatever he chooses to do. And if he isn’t… friendly… to the idea…”

“So then what?” Sally never raised her voice, but her tone turned as dark as it ever did. “Are you going to kill him too?”

***

“Are you going to ask me while we stroll through the quaint streets of Rome?” Noin pulled the plaid wrap around her shoulders, but somehow managed to grasp onto Sally’s arm all the same.

“I don’t think I’d call this place quaint…” Sally began to say, but then her words were cut off by Noin’s lips.

They stumbled together into the privacy of a shop door shadow. The curve of Noin’s smile spoiled the kiss, but conveying the same intention all the same. Sally wanted more kisses; however, Noin leaned back to analyze Sally’s windswept hair. She tucked the loose pieces behind Sally’s ear.

“You’re so magical, no place—not even Rome—can compete with where you are,” Noin said seriously.

“You didn’t just say… you never said… that’s ridiculous,” Sally laughed. “I don’t believe that for a minute. Magical?”

“I do mean it,” Noin protested, pretending to be hurt.

Pretending. Everything was pretend, and Sally couldn’t forget. But she was getting better at not remembering.

“That’s not something you would say,” Sally instructed. “Me… perhaps. But not you. Not her.”

***

“Do you use an iVR?” Trowa asked casually while scanning in the bar codes on the latest orders. The shipment would go later when the tally was in. The entire process had been going so well that Nichol almost appreciated having the extra pair of hands. Almost. Then the other man had to do something… suspicious.

“Of course,” Nichol replied, trying not to sound too cautious or too interested. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Just about,” Trowa nodded. “It’s nearly impossible not to have some access to the iVR. It’s the only way to get the permits for legal housing, which… well, we can’t exactly live in the iVR.” He laughed at his own humor. Nichol made his mouth shape like a smile, but couldn’t trust himself to make the correct sound to go along with it.

“It’s a great way to keep in touch with people. Although, sometimes they come across as really different in iVR than actually,” Trowa went on, his fingers calculating the figures on the report faster than Nichol could double check them. But none of the numbers were wrong when Nichol did finish.

 _Are you a robot?_ Nichol wanted to ask, but the newcomer had Nichol at a disadvantage.

“It can take a while to warm up to them on the flip side of reality,” Trowa continued whatever he’d been rambling on about. Nichol wearied himself with trying to decipher every sentence and conversation for hidden meanings. “That’s what I did for a while, wandered the iVR meeting people. But you know—you can’t always tell who you’ve got on the other side with all the disguises available. Or sometimes they’re not another person. Did you hear about that Maxwell bloke who married an NPC? I went to school with him.”

“Old news,” Nichol dismissed, not bothering to sound friendly. Trowa didn’t even hesitated.

“I say it works both ways. iVR is what you make of it. We make our own happy endings or, I ask myself, why not test other boundaries?” Trowa put the scanner onto the shelf and, leaning against the boxes of inventory, observed as Nichol waded through the output information. “All sorts of things to experiment with or try…”

“Can you hand me the original?” Nichol asked, pretending he hadn’t heard.

***

“Why did you plug in if you weren’t going to be here with me?” Dorothy grumbled. She turned on the hotel television, a dizzying logic of out-dated entertainment inside the advanced technology of iVR, originally intended as the TVs replacement.

Nichol remained flopped on his stomach, face away. He stared at nothing in particular, but his ears couldn’t quite block out the sound of the empty room where his body sat still clothed and stationary in the living room chair. Of course, he couldn’t actually hear Sally or the constant sounds like the hum of a refrigerator. He’d never been so self-aware in the iVR before. Trowa had really done a number on annihilating any chance of a relaxed mood.

“You can’t always tell who you’ve got on the other side. Or if they’re even another person…”

“What?” Nichol flipped, half expecting someone else. Dorothy pursed her lips at him, but the dangerous angle of her eyebrows warned him that she wasn’t all that cheerful.

“I could just… well, haven’t you wondered? What’s possible in this place?” Dorothy patted his cheek. Her fingers lingering the last time to gently tug along his side-burns. The movement was almost unbearable sweet. And sad. “No one polices iVR.”

***

“Of course the proper authorities monitor iVR,” Sally made quarreling with Trowa sound like a mutually enjoyed experience. Nichol took two steps into the warehouse when he turned around to pace the storefront instead. He hoped neither of them had seen him. He did not want to be part of that conversation having had enough of it the day before and from Dorothy.

Dorothy.

He did not want to be part of anything to do with the iVR for a while, but for Dorothy--even if she’d just climb on his nerves.

None of that had particularly bothered him before. But Trowa had tracked his fingers along the edge of the dust with a distracting whistle on his lips. “Why do you bother with the actual world if you aren’t going to clean?” the taller man had asked.

Nichol wiped down the counter with a sneer of disgust. A few billion people leaving dead skin cells and hair everywhere while enjoying the spotless images projected by iVR. He felt like throwing up.

***

“Where were you yesterday?” Noin asked. She rubbed suntan lotion on her legs until she reached the places already covered with the sand from the beach.

“Yesterday?” Sally wondered, looking up from her book. The sun stayed low on the horizon and the lazy waves. The perpetual sunset made the pages of text an almost sunflower yellow in color. “You missed me?”

“Well, you didn’t promise or anything,” Noin didn’t look at her. “But I saw the normal time come and go. Did work keep you late?”

“I was checking on something,” Sally nodded. She had followed Trowa to the mat and hacked the system to ping back where he got off the gridway. Nichol had unscrambled the data and pinpointed a place in the north end of the same region. All that told them was that he had the same first four digits on his certificate marking them all residents of the state and local to the same iVR servers.

Noin sat quietly until Sally tapped the woman with her foot. “Hey, cheer up. Were you counting the hours since you last saw me?”

“No, why?” Noin said, her face blank.

“Ah,” Sally leaned back, turning to the book. “Just seemed like something you might do.”

***

“So how did you two think up the name for the business?” Trowa asked. He harmlessly tossed the last of the new textile products into place for shipment. Then he slapped his hands together with a highly satisfied gusto before going back to work hefting boxes.

Sally watched Nichol silently turn purple, so she answered, “We bought out the business, but the Legal required us to maintain the original name. So as not to deceive.”

“No profiting as your own competition?” Trowa nodded. “That makes sense. But OZ, where did that name come from? Isn’t that the name of a military group from a hundred years ago or something like that?”

“It’s from a children’s book,” Nichol said, his jaw tight. He took the last box from Trowa’s arms and put it away. “Stop with the lazy chitchat. We don’t have all day.”

“I’m surprised no one has asked you before. The name is very interesting.” Trowa spread his arms wide as if he meant to embrace them all. “I could hardly believe the two of you kept this place running by yourselves. So where did you get the nest egg to buy out a mega-supplier like OZ?”

“Definitely not by slacking off, Barton.” Nichol stomped away, completely missing the way the triumphant expression dropped from Trowa’s face.

***

“We have to be more careful,” Sally insisted. “He’s not asking anything we didn’t expect to hear long before now. But if you throw an unrealistic tantrum just because he irritates you, then he might really look into how we got the resources to acquire OZ.”

“That was your money, Sal,” Nichol reminded.

“From my best friend's living will,” Sally volleyed back. The truth never was as simple as Nichol wanted it to be. He could dismiss what they had done simply because it had seem the best thing to do at the time. And she couldn’t solely blame him for something she had wanted just as much. No, more so.

“She’s actually gone, Sal. Disappeared under the most suspicious circumstances,” Nichol said, somewhat cruelly. But he didn’t take it back.

Sally knew what she had done. “How can she be gone when I visit her every night?”

***

“I have the distinct feeling that you’re in trouble,” Dorothy said.

They had been walking through a suburb as the evening sounds burst forth with unhindered perfection, primarily crickets and somewhere, inexplicably, a frog. So he wasn’t expecting anything of the sort when with an unexpected strength she suddenly shoved Nichol sideways and against the wall of the… library. If he looked to the side, Nichol had an up close view of the stone sign displaying when the structure had been built.

A fabrication of the original sign, but the hard press against his back seemed real enough.

“Something’s closing in on you and I can tell.” She yanked her arms back to cross them over her chest. The evening was programmed to be chilly, but she’d dressed without her unusual, provocative clothing.

He’d almost complimented her appearance, but he had been distracted with thoughts of OZ and what needed to be done to keep the shop running and not be found out.

Sally had benefited. She had been, somewhat, an injured party. But that didn’t begin to explain away the extremely reclusive former owners of OZ. Unlike Sally, Nichol had no interest in re-animating any of those buried people. Not Zechs. Not Une… not even Treize.

Nichol had believed in Treize at one point in time. He had believed in Treize’s dream until it proved hollow. But he never uploaded that to the iVR. He wasn’t looking for excuses or justification or to fix past mistakes. That was Sally’s issue.

“Will you let me help you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.” Nichol thought his head might float away, it seemed so light just then.

“Will you let anyone help you?”

“Save your helps for someone who needs them.” Nichol pushed past her. But for a moment, Dorothy had seemed quite taller than him. He stumbled, briefly. But when he turned back, she had reached for him. Pulling him down, down for a kiss that didn’t communicate what he didn’t want to hear.

***

“Some men came by earlier to ask about our relationship,” Noin said before Sally could sit down. Noin had already started the fireplace and somewhere a record played with airy notes that seemed more like the wind through a window than melody.

“Here?” Sally hadn’t thought that possible. “Were they part of the program, er, part of the neighborhood?”

Noin shook her head, “They weren’t any neighbors I’d ever seen before. Mostly they asked what I was doing and if I’d finished the paperwork on my… what did they call it. IV surrender?”

“iVR surrender-grant?” Sally said, fighting to maintain a calmness that allowed her to sound almost casual.

“Yes,” Noin agreed, exuberantly. “I told them I was very happy here and this is exactly what I wanted. I didn’t know I hadn’t finished the paperwork.”

“You did,” Sally said. She went to the kitchen and looked through the cupboards. She hid her concern behind the cabinet door. The forgery had been perfect. A living person could volunteer to inhabit iVR exclusively. Their material wealth bestowed to the host program and any beneficiaries of the physically ‘understood’ deceased. Nichol’s plan had been foolproof and Sally had inherited everything.

“I told them I’d redo whatever,” Noin followed her. “Which put them at ease. But Sally, I had a strange premonition after they left.”

“Yes?” Sally closed the doors, having taken nothing out.

“Do I know someone named Milliardo Peacecraft?”

***

Somehow you have to be able to live with knowing what you’ve done. Putting it off won’t be enough to deal with the diseased space that never heals, not exactly. Or if that sin becomes a scab, it itches so that you cannot ignore the desire to scratch. But the temporary relief is nothing compared to acknowledging what was done.

Sally thought she could go on living without facing her part in the scheme. Everything had happened so fast. She had gained her revenge for Noin, and Nichol had his chance to restructured the company so that it ran better than ever. Still, how they had gone about achieving those ends hadn’t been entirely legal.

Sally stared in the dark. She was newly unplugged and unwilling to get up or move or face anything _actual_. But now she knew even going back to iVR wasn’t completely safe if someone had investigated her private access. Detectives had to have permission to do that. Permission meant plausibility of guilt.

What if someone was asking questions? Did that mean someone was suspicious of Noin or Sally? It had been a year. No one had doubted the handover of OZ. Nichol’s plan had gone without a hitch.

He always had a good idea for what to do next. All she had to do was stay calm.

Sally remembered a time when she didn’t have to go to Nichol for schemes and escapes.

But she couldn’t go back in time.

Sally toyed with the plug. She smoothed the place by her ear where she could reconnect.

***

“Trowa! I didn’t know that you worked here?”

Nichol heard voices from the front of the shop. He glanced at the time and wished he’d locked the door for closing. But Sally had stayed upstairs all day, which left him alone with too much hovering Trowa Barton.

Typically, walk-ins were sentimentalists who enjoyed the tangible merchandise and carrying things around with them before deciding on purchases. Otherwise it was a hot-head wanting to complain.

Unfortunately, Nichol could tell within seconds that the newcomer was neither of those. A slender blond man, the customer wore a full suit that looked as if it had never been worn before. And his shoes, something Nichol would never have noticed, were unblemished and shining white. Which meant that the man could afford actual clothing of such expensive quality… and they were little used due to hours spent in the iVR.

“Quatre, this is my employer… Nichol,” Trowa said gesturing between the men. He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms with a somewhat self-satisfied smirk.

“Yes,” Quatre acknowledged. Offering to shake hands, Nichol fought back his every gut reaction to flee. He resisted wiping his palm along his trousers and Quatre politely refrained from pointing out the clammy sweat between their grips.

 _Yes? What does he mean by_ yes? Nichol’s heartbeat seemed to have moved into his throat. Trowa became restless enough to stand straight again.

“So what are you doing here?” Trowa asked. “I can hardly imagine that you need anything.”

“Just browsing and in the neighborhood,” Quatre said, casually shrugging. The two men continued talking about mutual acquaintances and apparently they had attended certain academic classes together. Nichol became suddenly aware of every movement of Trowa’s long fingers. Then he had a crazy premonition that the spirit of Treize Kushrenada was visible from behind the antique cash register. The ghost pointed at Nichol and whispered, _He did it. I’m buried under the new storage room._

“What?” Trowa asked, a bewildered expression on his face.

“Ah?” Nichol shook himself from the hallucination. “Was I laughing? No… it’s nothing.”

“I thought I might find something here,” Quatre said at last. “But I never expected to run into you, Trowa!--a surprise that makes my heart glad. Will I see you at the iVR tournaments this season?”

“Sure,” Trowa tilted his head as if he weren’t committed either way.

“Well, Dorothy thinks you should.”

Nichol’s vision went dark briefly as it did in the moment between plugging from the actual and floating into the iVR. Except he wasn’t plugged and two very actual men fortunately had not noticed his moment of terror. Or had it only been a moment? Quatre was gone.

“Nichol?” Trowa asked. He didn’t come any closer. For once, the other man sounded nervous.

“Who’s Dorothy?” Nichol wondered at the quality of his own voice, which seemed somewhat like it echoed back at him from the corners of the ceiling.

“The actual Dorothy?”

“The _actual Dorothy_?” Nichol repeated that phrase a few times. “Are you saying you know her?”

“Ah,” Trowa rubbed at the back of his head. “Yes. She’s a former classmate of mine.”

“I know a Dorothy. Blonde. Long hair. Blue eyes and a scar across her eyebrows that makes them split like she’s always frowning…” Nichol muttered, recklessly and knowing that he was missing some piece of information. Something Trowa knew and was keeping secret. That smug bastard had the gall to look sheepish.

“Don’t tell me,” Nichol continued, low and angry. “Let me guess. Dorothy and Quatre are an item. Hell, they’re probably married. And that… Dorothy told me she wasn’t! I… I’m.” He thought about her strange, cold humor and the funny laugh she made before her kisses became serious. Could he be angry with her, or even allow himself to feel betrayed when he had kept so much of himself secret from her?

“Nichol,” Trowa said sharply. “Dorothy is Quatre’s wife. But she’s also an iVR model. So if you met her… Quatre knows it isn’t _her_. Dorothy’s favorite thing is to put on iVR disguises and look for _herself_ in iVR.” Trowa took a deep breath. “He wasn’t here because of that…”

“But who is my Dorothy? Who would use her model _and_ her name?” Nichol retorted. “And then her _husband_ comes to the shop. Where a man who has an affair with… but no. It’s not his wife. It’s not an affair. So why would he care?”

Trowa waited.

Nichol said, “Except he knows you. But he didn’t expect you…”

“And I didn’t expect him to find the shop,” Trowa glanced away. Then he sighed. “I had dinner with them a couple weeks ago. Quatre was taking too long with a case file--he’s an Actual Detective. Dorothy asked me to fetch him from the other room. I saw the screen he had open and, well--your picture.”

“Me?” Someone knew. Someone guessed. Something had changed to make the disappearances of the actual Treize Kushrenda and his friends raise suspicions.

“I recognized you at once. I never thought you would look like… you. And here I thought most iVR users went with models, except you weren’t on the options. You were just… you…” Trowa’s throat swallowed hard.

“What?” Nichol stammered.

“You wouldn’t say… and I couldn’t help you if I didn’t find you in the actual. I know I practically forced myself in here, but I needed to make sure Quatre didn’t find… Nichol? Hey…” He reached out for Nichol’s sleeve and suddenly only his strength had Nichol braced upright.

Nichol’s emotions closed down. Nothing surfaced except an observation. Then, with a solemn matter-of-fact understanding, Nichol said, “You iVR as your best friend’s wife? That’s… questionable behavior.”

***

Trowa’s urgency cut through the room. “We’ve got to get out of here and then make sure nothing can be traced to you. Or Sally. He’ll come back. I have this place…”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Nichol shook his head. “Just… leave.”

“Nichol.” Trowa didn’t let go of his arm. “I can understand if you’re angry with me right now, but listen. I don’t have a clear picture of what happened or why… but I can tell you this place has enough evidence so I can make a good _guess_ at what you wouldn’t tell me. And I’m not the only one putting a series of dots in the same basket, about what happened here and the truth behind OZ.”

“Let go.” Nichol jerked his arm once and Trowa released him. He turned to go out and up the stairs to the apartment.

Why? It wasn’t as if he could retreat to iVR. Dorothy… wasn’t there. She never had been _her_. Not the woman he thought she was anyway.

His Dorothy had always been _Trowa Barton._

Nichol had thought he had been so much more clever than Sally for having a relationship with a genuine person. But Dorothy… no, _Trowa_ hadn’t been honest with Nichol. No more honest than Sally and that virtual image of Noin.

“The whole time… I had no idea,” Nichol spoke quietly while keeping as far ahead of Trowa as he could. “I knew some guys went on as women but…”

“What are you doing?” Trowa asked, still following, but not trying to make Nichol go anywhere any longer.

“To unplug Sally, first of all,” Nichol decided. “Then she can choose for herself where she wants to go.”

“Where are you going to go?”

“I don’t think I’m ready to give you that information,” Nichol barked back. “You’re not exactly trust worthy.”

The image of Dorothy was already splintering in his memory. Her mannerisms. Her dry humor and direct way of speaking. It was an actor at his best, and still—somewhat of that performance had been Trowa too.

Nichol swung open the screen then pushed in the main door. Hitting the light, he could see Sally. She sat turned away from him. Rushing toward her, Nichol found the ashtray and held it under her nose. She didn’t react at all.

“Sally,” he said. “Sal?”

When Trowa decided to stand next to him, Nichol wasn’t entirely certain. Minutes might have passed. Or seconds. He knew he wasn’t plugged in, but he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge what actual… what reality showed to him either.

“Did she transfer into the iVR?” Trowa asked, his tone gentle. “A complete transfer?”

“How should I know?” Nichol raised his voice. “You’re the expert at manipulating the system. You tell me.”

“We can,” Trowa hesitated. “We can… plug in, go for a look. I know the place to put on disguises if you think we need additional protection…”

“Enough,” Nichol said, holding up his arm. “I don’t want to know. No point in it, because she’s not coming back. Sally never…” He rubbed at his eyes. “Sally wanted out. She wanted iVR and Noin and she was too good to be keeping this sort of secret.”

“So she escaped. What about you?”

“I don’t have the luxury to quit,” Nichol grumbled. “Transfer into iVR? No, thank you. That’s the same as dying for me.”

The other man continued, cautious and slow. “Sounds like you need a sponsor. Someone wealthy enough to make this disappear and crooked enough to find a way to benefit from it,” Trowa paused. “Does that sound like something Dorothy would do?”

“Damn it, Barton.”

He knew he was going to take the easy escape, because he hadn’t found any reason worth surrendering. Nichol resigned himself, saying, “You know you’re the only one who can answer that question.”


End file.
